Baby Be Mine (15 page)

‘I’m happy here,’ he says gruffly.

‘Do you want to get some writing done or something while we go?’

Slowly, determinedly, he turns around and gives me a look of such pure hatred that my blood runs cold.

‘I. Don’t. Fucking. Think. So.’

‘Christian . . .’ I plead.

Johnny interrupts us. ‘Maybe I should go.’

I take a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘That’s probably enough for today.’

He gets to his feet.

‘I’ll see you out.’ I glance at Christian, but he has his back to us again. Neither he nor Johnny says anything as I lead the way out through the screeching pool gate.

Johnny follows me back indoors to get his bike stuff.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ I say as he puts his leather jacket back on.

He shakes his head and pulls on his gloves. ‘Could have been worse.’ He stops suddenly and stares ahead as though in a daze, then seems to snap out of it. ‘Can I come back tomorrow?’ He picks up his helmet and moves towards the door.

‘Sure, of course.’ I offer him a small smile. ‘Hopefully it will be better. I’ll talk to Christian toni—’

‘Don’t,’ he interrupts. ‘It’s okay. I can handle it.’

I open the door and he steps over the threshold. ‘I still think it would help if you apologised,’ I suggest.

‘See you tomorrow, Meg.’ He gives me a final look and jogs down the steps.

I’m reluctant to go back out to the pool again because I know the mood that will be waiting for me there, but I force myself to.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

‘Take Barney,’ Christian says, getting up and handing my son to me. I look at him in surprise, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. I follow him back indoors, the sickness and dread kicking up a notch. He goes straight into the bedroom and angrily drags a T-shirt over his head.

‘Where are you going?’ I ask nervously as he exchanges his swimming trunks for shorts.

‘Out.’

I follow him back down the corridor. He snatches the car keys from the ledge.

‘Christian,’ I say, disappointed. ‘Can’t we talk about this?’

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t look at me, he just slams the door in my face as I stand there, holding my son.

He doesn’t come home until eleven o’clock that night. I’m waiting for him on the sofa.

‘I thought you’d be asleep,’ he mutters.

‘I was waiting for you. I was worried.’

‘I’m back now. Go to bed,’ he commands.

‘I’m sorry, Christian. I know this must be hard for you.’

He snorts. ‘You haven’t got a fucking clue,’ he says bitterly.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. I’m not even going to try to convince him I can imagine how he must feel. I get up and go to him. He glares at me as I put my hand on his arm, trying to get through to him.

‘I’ll do anything I can to make this easier,’ I say softly, but he shrugs me off, his chest moving up and down aggressively with every breath.

‘Go to bed,’ he says warningly.

I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath and then I look at him and nod. ‘Okay.’

I stroke his arm one last time and find his bicep rigid with tension.

‘Goodnight,’ I say. He doesn’t answer.

  Chapter 15  

How are we going to get through this? I don’t see how we can.

Barney’s presence improves the atmosphere the following morning, but the pressure is bubbling away below the surface, threatening to burst through at any given time.

We eat breakfast out on the terrace and look at the mountains cast in morning sunlight. There’s a slight haze across them today. It probably means it’s going to be hot again.

I need to talk to Christian about Johnny, but I feel like my lips are glued together. Christian is saying nothing. I can hear him crunching on his cereal as he stares up at the view. He’s having cornflakes this morning, and not even the Crunchy Nut variety. He’s not giving in to his sweet tooth. I don’t know what this means, but it feels ominous.

Barney is being unusually quiet in his highchair.

I push away my barely touched toast. I don’t have an appetite.

‘So,’ Christian starts, and I can hear the sarcasm even in this one word. ‘What exciting things have you got planned today?’

‘Please . . .’ I give him an imploring look.

He shovels in another spoonful of cornflakes and munches angrily.

I try to speak soothingly. ‘I wondered if you might find it easier if we go out.’

‘“We”, as in you, me and Barney?’ he asks jollily and doesn’t wait for my answer. ‘No, I didn’t think so,’ he sneers.

I bite my lip and stay silent for a while before continuing, ‘I don’t know what to do. I want to make this easier for you. I just don’t know how,’ I admit. He doesn’t answer. ‘Please, Christian, tell me what to do.’

‘How about, don’t fuck your boyfriend’s best friend? How about that? And if you absolutely
must,’
he says acidly, ‘then have him use a fucking condom.’

Barney starts to rap his spoon noisily on the bar of his highchair.

I take him inside to play with his toys, without saying another word.

It’s a good twenty minutes before Christian comes indoors. I’m sitting on the living room floor, building blocks with Barney. I look up at him. He seems defeated.

‘Go out today,’ he says flatly. ‘I don’t want to see him again anyway.’ He’s talking about Johnny, of course.

I nod slowly. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. But go soon before I change my mind.’

I wait until I’m in the car before I call Johnny. ‘We’re on our way to you,’ I say. ‘Just me and Barney.’

‘Okay,’ he replies with surprise. ‘Do you know where I’m staying?’

‘Yes, Johnny,’ I say sardonically. ‘Your PA texted me the details two days ago. We’ll be there in an hour.’ I end the call and throw my phone into my bag. Now I can concentrate on driving.

To be fair to him, he did tell me his time of arrival himself. But Lena sent me the rest.

I suppose it’s best that she knows about me, even if she isn’t aware of all the details. I wonder if anyone else is. I wonder if he’s told the elusive Dana Reed.

Johnny is staying in a chateau in the hills about forty-five minutes west of Perpignan. It takes me about an hour to get there on the mountain roads and by the time we arrive it’s eleven o’clock and Barney is fast asleep. I climb out of the car and look up at the beautiful grey-stone castle surrounded by leafy green trees. I can see why his PA booked him in here, even though one of the hotels in Cucugnan or a nearby town would have been a hell of a lot easier to get to.

I wonder if Lena has hired out the whole thing. I doubt she would have managed it on such short notice – if she did, she’s a better PA than I ever was. I think we’ll be safe from the paparazzi, in any case. The press in France are slightly less intrusive than those in the US and the UK.

I manage to transfer Barney to his buggy, but getting him across the gravel makes for a bumpy ride. I look around to see if there’s anyone who can help me carry the buggy up the steps, but the whole place seems deserted. Maybe Lena is more skilled than I imagined. I pull out my phone and text Johnny to tell him that we’re downstairs.

I squint my eyes against the glaring sunshine and peer inside. The front hall is dark and enchanting, long tapestries hanging on the walls. Moments later, I see Johnny jogging down the spiral staircase. He pushes open the gothic doors and emerges into the daylight.

‘Hey, how’s it going?’

I put my finger to my lips and indicate the buggy.

‘Is he asleep?’ he whispers.

‘Yes. Help me carry him up the steps?’

I put my hands on the handles, but Johnny wraps his arms around the centre of the buggy and takes off with it.

‘Are you alright with that?’ I whisper loudly after him. That buggy is a nightmare to carry on your own.

‘Yep,’ he grunts, not bothering to put it down on the floor to cross the stone tiles to the staircase. I follow him up the winding stairs, trying not to look at his tattooed biceps.

We reach a long corridor and Johnny pushes open the first door he comes to.

‘No key?’ I say wryly.

‘No valuables,’ he replies.

‘I’m not sure souvenir hunters would agree with that,’ I say, looking around the spacious suite. Johnny’s biker jacket and helmet are lying where he threw them on a seat under the window. The dark-wood shutters are wide open, allowing sunlight to spill into the room, revealing walls of polished ochre and antique furniture. Oil paintings of family members from years gone by hang on the walls. I glance through to the next room to see a large four-poster king-sized bed, made up with a golden silk bedspread.

‘Nice room,’ I comment.

‘It’s alright,’ he brushes me off. ‘Where do you want him?’ He indicates Barney.

‘Can I park him in the bedroom?’

‘Sure.’

‘How long does he sleep for?’ he asks when I come back through.

‘Hopefully another hour,’ I tell him, sitting down on one of the sofas. ‘He has two hours a day at this age. If he wakes up early, he’s usually a grump.’ Am I boring him? Oddly, I don’t think so.

He sits down on the sofa opposite me and picks up the phone on the side-table next to him. ‘Want a drink?’

‘I wouldn’t mind a latte.’

He dials a number and places an order for room service.

‘It’s quiet here,’ I say. ‘Have you got the whole place to yourself?’

‘No.’ I feel a strange relief. Lena didn’t quite manage it, then. ‘Only a couple of honeymooners in the rooms upstairs, though,’ he explains, picking some fluff off his jeans.

‘Have you told Dana about us?’ I ask suddenly.

He looks up at me. ‘Not yet.’

‘But you will?’

He nods. ‘Yeah.’

‘How do you think she’ll take it?’

‘She’ll cope.’ Pause. ‘How was Christian last night?’

‘Not good,’ I admit. ‘But I don’t want to talk about him.’

‘Why not?’

‘It feels like I’m betraying him and I’ve done enough of that already.’

There’s a gentle knock at the door. Johnny gets up to answer it. A neatly dressed man comes in with a silver tray and places it on the coffee table between us. Johnny pulls his wallet out of his pocket and hands him a note as he leaves.

I get up and look out of the window. I’d forgotten what it was like living in such luxury. Actually, that’s not true. You never forget it once you’ve experienced it, and I experienced it repeatedly during the eight months I worked for Johnny.

Surreal realisation hits me again. Johnny Jefferson is Barney’s father. This changes everything. Life will never be normal again.

I turn around and watch him as he lifts up a silver-coloured coffee cup from the tray and blows at the hot liquid. Steam swirls away from him in a tiny cloud. He’s clean-shaven and his hair looks blonder in the sunlight. He’s wearing a light-grey T-shirt and I notice that he has a new tattoo on the inside of his arm, just up from his wrist. He glances up at me and his green eyes meet mine. For a split second I feel like I’m falling and I must look shocked because his coffee cup freezes inches from his lips.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘Nothing.’ I avert my gaze and go to sit down. ‘What do you want to do today?’ Try to act normal, for God’s sake. I take a sip of my latte.

‘It’s up to you. I wasn’t expecting you to come this way. Did you take the mountain roads or the motorway?’

‘Mountain.’

‘Me too.’ He grins. ‘Awesome on the bike.’

I smile back at him, feeling strangely relaxed considering recent – and past – events. ‘So, today . . .’

‘There’s a spa here. Does Barney like swimming?’

‘Mmm, he does, actually. Oh. I don’t have any swimming gear.’

‘We can sort that.’ He reaches for the phone again, dials a number and then speaks into the receiver. ‘My friend and her son want to use the pool. Can you have someone bring up some swimming costumes?’

I know from experience that the manager here will be pulling out all the stops to impress a client of Johnny’s stature. It may seem quiet, but you’d better believe that there are two or three times as many staff as usual buzzing around behind the scenes to make sure everything runs as smoothly as possible for their super-prominent guest.

‘And swimming nappies . . .’ I suddenly remember.